


Teacher's Pet

by mylifeisloki



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Tumblr Prompt, teacher/student au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3206402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylifeisloki/pseuds/mylifeisloki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A virginal Natasha makes the best of a flirtation with her young art teacher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teacher's Pet

**Author's Note:**

> This is to satisfy two prompts I got- one for Steve taking Natasha's virginity instead of the other way around, and one for a student/teacher AU. Hope you love it, because it took me forever to get it all down.

Natasha first met Mr. Rogers by making what turned into a very advantageous mistake. On the first day of her third year of high school, she gotten to school late and wandered into the wrong classroom—only to find that she had one very good reason to stay. Namely, that reason consisted of the impossibly firm ass of the teacher prancing back and forth, telling them all about the art projects they’d be expected to complete that term and all the artists they were going to learn about. Of course, she knew about five minutes in that she wasn't supposed to be there, but that was hardly important because she walked out of that room wondering when she would see the enthusiastic art teacher with the pretty blue eyes next.

As it turned out, she only had to wait a few hours. For her last period of the day, she wandered back into the same room and took a seat by the window, making sure to sit up front so she had a good view. At sixteen and eager for the attention of a man she considered worth her time, she was more than happy to notice that Mr. Rogers’ eyes fell on her when he was halfway through calling attendance.

“Present,” she answered when he finally called her name, even giving the man a little smirk. Mr. Rogers smiled and leaned back, sitting on the edge of his desk. “Weren't you in my morning class, Ms. Romanov?”

So he remembered her. Natasha's stomach fluttered pleasantly and she bit her lip, giving him a casual shrug. “Well, I liked it so much the first time,” she teased smoothly. “I had to come back for more.”

He looked surprised by that, but the way he swallowed let Natasha know that her boldness was appreciated. Finally. Something to break up the dullness of being in school every day. Once again, she listened to their goals for that semester, the projects they'd be working on, and so on. She never took her eyes off Mr. Rogers, preferring instead to watch how his muscles shifted under the tight, blue button down he was wearing.

Art class soon became Natasha's favorite class, even though it was hardly the one she excelled at the most. Her talents were in languages- everything from basic English class to French class to the Latin class she was taking as an elective. But art? It was emotions and _feeling_ and inexact measures. Honestly, she kind of bombed her first project just because instead of writing about how the piece of art made her feel, she wrote about the technique the artist had used and where he stood as far as labeling him as this or that.. It was all very technical.

Even so, she enjoyed class for the simple fact that Mr. Rogers was a fantastic teacher. Beyond the fact that he was gorgeous and frequently came to their workshop classes in an inappropriately tight t-shirt over his khakis, he was also attentive and patient, explaining each and every aspect of their lessons to anyone who didn't fully understand the first time and encouraging those who insisted they were stuck. Natasha kept up her habit of subtly flirting with the young teacher, making wry comments to him when he came around to see how she was doing or leaning forward just to watch his face heat up when his gaze fell on her full cleavage.

It was fun, teasing him when they both knew he wasn't allowed to do anything about it, and it was almost entirely innocent. Well, innocent in that Natasha never really expected anything to happen, and she was perfectly content slipping her hand between her legs late at night while she thought about how his lips would feel or how his hands could probably fit the curve of her waist. She spent time wondering how it would feel to have his body on top of her, how it might feel to have him press into her-- not that she had anything to go by. She'd made out with a few boys and even gone to second base with a couple of them, but she'd never slept with anyone. Mr. Rogers kind of tested her resolve that way.

It wasn't until it was time to pick her classes for Senior year that she realized she wanted to get back into a classroom with him. Now that she'd had him for two terms, she was pretty sure that she could handle his Senior-level class, which was primarily focused on creating a portfolio of art projects inspired by their unique traits. It was a class focused on art itself, not the history, not any particular technique. Natasha had absolutely no business taking that class, but since she had to pick an elective-- she did.

In September, she showed up for Mr. Rogers' class all ready to see him again- or so she thought. He looked spectacular. His hair was a little different- not as slicked back as it had been the year before- and he was wearing jeans instead of his usual khakis, along with a white t-shirt and a leather jacket. Well, if she hadn't been staring before, she was definitely staring now.

The problem with having a crush on a teacher was that she didn't know anything about him save the little bits and pieces everyone else knew. She had heard that he was close with one of the gym teachers, Coach O, and she knew that Dr. Banner in the Science department had lunch with him sometimes. She knew that he drove a motorcycle because it was parked in the faculty parking lot and she'd seen him carrying a helmet into school on several mornings. He'd waved to her each time, earning impressed giggles from Maria and Darcy, who were standing on either side of her at the time, and a raised eyebrow from Melinda. But aside from that? He didn't wear a wedding ring, so she assumed he wasn't married-- but that was all it was; an assumption. She also _assumed_ that he was into women, based on the way he looked at her sometimes, and she assumed that he didn't have a girlfriend, but that was probably just wishful thinking.

“Natasha Romanov,” he called, and she piped up from her stool near the front of the studio, telling him that she was present. Mr. Rogers paused for a moment and gave her what she saw as a fond smile. “Nice to see you again.”

Natasha smirked confidently, crossing her legs at the knee and leaning one elbow on the table beside her. Unlike most of the other students, she was facing him instead of the table. “Likewise,” she countered.

The class began with Mr. Rogers explaining to them that their year-long project would focus on who they were as individuals. He would guide them and suggest different techniques to look into, but he was largely just a supervisor and a kind of mentor through the process. He would be meeting with each of them during the first week of classes and then several other times throughout the school year to discuss the progress they'd made and talk about where they were taking it next. Their entire grade depended on how much work and thought and vision went into their projects, which would be turned in at the end of the year.

The semester would start off with a private meeting between each student and Mr. Rogers himself. Since Natasha's last name was close to the back of the alphabet, she wouldn't be meeting with him until the next class, but that was alright. It gave her time to prepare. The next day, a Friday, she showed up wearing a short skirt over sheer tights and a simple shirt that showed off just enough cleavage- not too much, not too little.

When her name was called, she sauntered right up to the front of the room and sat down in the chair beside Mr. Rogers' desk, crossing her legs at the knee to draw his attention. To his credit, he only looked for a second. "So, Ms. Romanov," he started, fixing her with a lopsided smile she kind of wanted to kiss off his face. "The idea behind the project is that it's supposed to stem from who you are. So tell me something about _you_. Something that makes you unique."

Natasha thought about it for a moment before smiling and shrugging a little bit. "Well, I'm deceptively good at martial arts," she said smoothly. "I was born in Russia and came here when I was seven. I'm a dancer. You're going to have to be more specific, Mr. Rogers."

He chuckled and Natasha felt her heart beat a little faster. Schoolgirl crushes were never her style, but how could she help it? Mr. Rogers-- Steve, she thought privately-- was so _likeable_. "You could focus on movement," he suggested. "Different ways to capture movement. And because dancing, or martial arts, could be considered art... I'll let you put in a performance a part of your project, if you want. I'm sure you're very talented."

Oh, so she'd get to show off too? _That_ sounded like a challenge Natasha just needed to live up to. "What would you suggest I do first, as far as mediums go?"

Natasha was hoping for watercolors. Or maybe just sketching or something, even though she wasn't very good. What Mr. Rogers decided on, however, threw her for a loop. "Sculpture," he said. "I think you should start with clay."

Ew. Schooling her features, Natasha nodded and said she would do her best before standing up and sashaying her way back to her seat- hopefully catching his eye as she did. Clay. Just wonderful.

The next session on Monday began with a very helpful Mr. Rogers securing Natasha a lump of misshapen clay and wishing her good luck before he headed off to supervise someone else. Frowning in annoyance at the material on her desk, Natasha considered how she might make this into something that represented who she was and eventually convinced herself to get to work. Forty five minutes later, her hands and arms were covered in clay, there was a streak of wet clay on her cheek, and Natasha was pretty sure that her lump looked like a slightly smoother lump.

"Hey, you made some good progress," a voice behind her said. Natasha glanced up to find Mr. Rogers staring down at her lump in fascination, like he really saw something there.

She didn't get it. "If that's what you want to call it," she quipped, glad this was her last class of the day. She was a mess. He noticed (Who wouldn't?) and told her she could wash up in the sink right there, which she happily did as the rest of the class filed out. Finally, after a whole year of waiting, they were alone.

To be fair, Natasha had no idea what to do with that fact, but she still liked it. Hands and arms all cleaned up, she pulled her jacket on and grabbed her bag before casually approaching his desk, where he was sitting and making notes in a gradebook. "Thanks for letting me wash up here," she said, smiling coyly.

"No problem at all," he said, belatedly looking up- and staring at her. Well, despite her bravado, Natasha could feel her cheeks heat up a little, but she stared back defiantly, refusing to drop his gaze. "You, uh..." He stood up and moved around the desk while Natasha tried to figure out why. Was she really that good at flirting? "You've got clay, right there...." Mr. Rogers gestured to his own cheek and the redhead felt like a prize idiot. Brilliant.

"Oh," she mumbled, glancing around for a tissue and finding none. Goddamnit.

Mr. Rogers tugged a handkerchief out of his back pocket and Natasha blinked, tensing up as he reached out and used the cloth to wipe the clay off her cheek. He was so close she could smell the fresh scent of his cologne and nearly got dizzy from it, vaguely leaning into his touch until he pulled away and she snapped to attention immediately.

"Thank you," she said again, looking up at him and unconsciously licking her lips. "H-Have a good night, Mr. Rogers."

She watched as his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed and for the first time since she'd met him, she took a moment to wonder about how old he was. He couldn't be more than 25 or so, which was hardly anything as far as age differences went. "Good night, Natasha." That night, her hand was between her legs as she thought about how he might have reacted if she'd reached out to touch him while he was cleaning her cheek.

Things pretty much continued as usual for a while. September was spent working tirelessly on what became a sculpture of a ballerina with stumps for feet- a symbol of what it would feel like for Natasha to not be able to dance. Mr. Rogers praised her for it and she was on cloud 9 the rest of that week.

She moved on to oil paints as October began, standing at an easel for most of the period and working on trying to create a painting that really captured the movement and grace of ballet without using too much detail-- because she really couldn't draw. Natasha took every opportunity to speak to Mr. Rogers, just as she had before. She dallied at the end of class to clean up, volunteered to help him wash the desks and put everything away since she wasn't in any rush most days, and made sure to ask him for comments and suggestions on her work.

For Halloween, she came to school in her leotard, tights and a sheer, black skirt she wore for ballet class, pointe shoes all laced up. Mr. Rogers, who was wearing a cowboy hat in place of an actual costume, asked her if they were getting a demonstration that day and just to tease him, she'd hopped up onto her toes and spun around for him once, balancing perfectly on one foot while she dipped down and put her other leg in the air. She could have sworn he'd looked her over for more than just her talent, but maybe that was just her imagination.

November brought more than just frigid New York weather and the promise of two days off for Thanksgiving. Just before the holiday, Natasha celebrated a very important birthday, marked by a few presents from her friends, one from her foster parents, and a dinner with her best friend. Clint knew all about Natasha's preoccupation with Mr. Rogers and started off their little celebration with--

“So. Have you asked him to be your first, yet? I bet he'd jump at the opportunity. I mean, he's a guy.”

Natasha just shook her head and took the little present he'd offered her over the table, digging into the bag to find his version of a friendship bracelet, a book on Russian weaponry, and condoms. She arched an eyebrow and held one up for him, tilting her head to the side in a silent question.

“What?” he protested. “I figured you might need 'em, what with your predilection for older men.”

She laughed and kicked him under the table, dinner progressing smoothly from there. On the day before the Thanksgiving, Natasha came into class feeling particularly confident and ready to finish up her newest piece- a huge canvas she was using to paint in watercolors. She focused on different shades of pink, white, black, red. It was supposed to be her when she was dancing- just a blur that only had a defined, rigid shape when she stopped. She only had to turn her head slightly to find out that Mr. Rogers was behind her, regarding her work like she was an actual artist instead of a pretender.

“Do you like it?” she asked, leaning back slightly so she could look up at him.

He nodded thoughtfully, moving around her so he could gesture at different parts of her work. “I love the colors you used,” he commented. “It's simple and kind of impersonal, but also really intimate.”

Natasha glanced at the painting for a moment and tried to see what he was saying, but to her it just looked like a Kindergarten project on symmetry. “Thanks,” she said anyway. “It means a lot that you like it.”

Mr. Rogers seemed surprised by that, but Natasha just pressed her lips together in a teasing smile and kept their gazes locked together. Boldness, she thought, would get her somewhere. As it turned out, it did get her an opportunity of sorts. “I've been looking for someone to work as a teacher's assistant,” he said after a moment. “You'll get credit for it, of course, and I'll write you a recommendation at the end of the year.”

Was this Mr. Rogers wanting to spend alone time with her? Natasha could hardly believe her good luck. “That sounds great,” she answered after a moment. “Really great. Thanks, Mr. Rogers.”

With instructions to stay after class so he could show her the office and her duties, Natasha spent the rest of the class on a cloud- not that she would admit that to anyone. After the bell rang, she waited until the rest of the class left to wander up to him, her books held to her chest.

Mr. Rogers, as it turned out, was a complete and utter dork. As they walked, he rambled on about how nice it was going to be to have someone help him clean up and organize because sometimes he got so scatterbrained that he couldn't find a damn thing in his office and oh, she was going to be such a big help. Natasha was way more amused by the stupid jokes he made, the way his hips moved when he walked, and the sound of his laughter.

But her smile kind of faltered when she stepped into his office to find that he had stuff everywhere. There were piles of art projects, piles of papers, piles of supplies-- “I hesitate to ask about the state of your house,” she muttered, looking around. So, she was going to have to work for that recommendation.

Chuckling sheepishly, the blond moved a few things on his desk and cleared a chair for her, gesturing for her to sit down as he did. “I swear, I'm not a pig all the time,” he began, and she laughed. “So, here's the deal. You've got my permission to tear this place apart as long as you put it back together and make it look nice. Tidy up, sort, maybe find a few things along the way. Sound good?”

Natasha nodded very seriously- she was going to do this so well, Mr. Rogers would have no choice but to kiss her as a thank you. At least, in her head. She assumed that there would be no kissing for real unless she was the one who made the first move. But what if she _did_ make the first move? Would he kiss her back and let her press against him, or would he push her away and call her foster parents to have a talk? Would he keep it a secret between them? Would he lay her down on his desk and have his way with her? His hips would fit so _nicely_ between her legs-- “Natasha?”

“Hm?” She snapped out of it after a moment and had the decency to blush a little. “Sorry. Yes, I'll take care of everything. You won't even recognize this place when I'm done with it.”

He smiled and said she could get to work while he graded a few papers, so Natasha set her bag down and pulled off her jacket before wading into the disaster that was his office. Perched on a stool on the other side of the room, she gingerly went through crinkled, dried pieces of student work that he'd kept for some reason that was probably not the intention to put them up. “Why do you have all these?” she wondered aloud. “If you weren't going to display them, why keep them?”

Mr. Rogers looked up and rubbed at the back of his neck, sheepishly explaining that there were a lot of students who just didn't want their work after the class was over, so it wound up piled in his office because he didn't want to just throw it away. Well. That was kind of sweet. Sentimental. Natasha had learned something new about him, and she liked this arrangement already. Nodding in understanding, she regarded the pieces of student work and made a decision that she would take care of the next day, more than likely. She just needed to make some space on her phone.

With that in mind, she made a few neat piles, sorting the art projects in a way that would really only make sense to her and cleaning up some of the garbage that was cluttering up that same table. Soon enough, Mr. Rogers spoke up and said that he had to get going, but they could pick this up the next day. Natasha was more than happy to walk out with him, noting the leather jacket he pulled on and the helmet tucked under his arm.

“Nice bike,” she commented when they arrived in the parking lot. Steve grinned and she just knew it was because he was proud of his bike because either he'd worked on it or saved up for it. “Bet it's really fun to ride.”

Steve swallowed- she knew that because she could see his Adam's apple bobbing again- but he didn't offer her a ride home. Ah, well. “I guess I'll see you on Monday, Mr. Rogers,” she said warmly, turning to head home on foot. “Have a good Thanksgiving.”

“You too, Natasha.” He'd answered her like he was surprised by something, or maybe like he was trying to let her down easy? Honestly, Natasha wasn't sure which it was, but when she heard a bike being revved, she immediately turned to look and watch him head down the street past her. Except he didn't go anywhere. He stopped next to her and Natasha nearly pressed her thighs together because that was a sight that shouldn't have been legal in any sense of the word.

She raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms under her bust. “Thought I was seeing you on Monday,” she quipped teasingly, one hip jutting out. “It's not Monday yet.” She idly wondered if he was spending the weekend with his girlfriend/boyfriend/illegitimate child/pet/etc.

Mr. Rogers tugged off his helmet and gestured for her to come closer, where he eventually plopped the same helmet onto her head and buckled it under her chin. Natasha held her breath when his fingers brushed over her skin, but she was so shocked by this decision that she couldn't quite say anything about it. “It's late,” he said. “You shouldn't be walking home by yourself.”

Oh. So that was the reason? He was a gentleman. Another quality was added to the list in Natasha's mind as she was instructed to get on and hold on tight once she'd told him where she lived. Well... if she _had_ to. Climbing onto the back of the bike, she shifted until she was comfortably pressed against his back, the insides of her thighs molded to his hips and the backs of his thighs-- Oh, there was so much contact. “Arms around me,” he added, and Natasha realized as she wrapped her arms around his middle and let her head rest against his back that she was kind of scared. She'd never been on a motorcycle before. What if she didn't---

Mr. Rogers took off as soon as he was sure she was secure and Natasha's grip only tightened. Holy shit. Everything was going very fast and Natasha's hands gripped the front of Mr. Rogers' shirt so hard, she was sure it might rip. Of course, there was the little voice inside her head that was telling her to take advantage of this and feel what she could, but she didn't have the time! At some point, she realized that the speed was exhilarating and smiled, laughing as he turned a corner and they went flying towards her neighborhood. It was like twirling- the wind in her face, the slight disorientation, the thrill. By the time he slowed to a stop outside her house, Natasha had long since decided that she loved it.

“That was amazing!” She enthused, peeling herself away from him and tugging the helmet off to reveal absolutely wild curls and flushed cheeks. “We have to do that again. Can we do that again?” Thrown off by her excitement, Natasha hardly realized that Mr. Rogers was staring at her in barely contained amusement, like he'd never seen her act so.. lively. Natasha sobered immediately, handing him the helmet back and giving him a pretty wide smile.

“Tell you what,” he said as he put the helmet back on. “I'll give you a ride home every day you help me in my office. It's the least I can do and I'd feel a lot more comfortable if you weren't walking home at night on your own.”

Natasha was about ready to throw a party in celebration. “That's really nice of you,” she said instead. “See you on Monday, Mr. Rogers.” He returned her sentiment again and was on his way in a few minutes, leaving a very excited Natasha to head inside and immediately call Clint.

“He wants to bang you.”

“Clint,” she chastised immediately. “How dare you say something like that about an upstanding member of our school community.”

Silence, then a loud bark of laughter. “You're insane, you know that? What are you gonna do? Blow him in his office?”

Truth? Natasha had no idea what she was going to do, and Clint knew it. “Well, if I did want to blow him in his office, I wouldn't know exactly what to do anyway,” she said slowly. Clint sighed.

“Nat, you literally can't mess it up. Guys are easy. It's girls that are really hard to please, and I mean that in a physical way. You've really got to try with a girl. Guys? Touch it, lick it, suck it, blow air on it... It's all good.”

Well, that was reassuring. They hung up and Natasha spent that evening thinking about being wrapped around Mr. Rogers, how firm and big and warm he was, and how she'd been wet from the moment she was sitting behind him. Horny teenage girl? Maybe, but she wasn't particularly ashamed of that.

Life went on as usual when they returned to school on Monday. Natasha worked in Mr. Rogers' office every Monday, Wednesday and Friday because she had ballet practice on the other two days. She spent ages organizing and fixing up and cataloging, beginning a secret photography project for him so he could keep the student work he wanted to without making a mess of his office. Going home with her arms wrapped around Mr. Rogers and her head resting on his back quickly became the highlights of her week. With all this alone time, Natasha began trying to figure out if he did want her the way Clint said by wearing tight jeans and bending over in front of him, or wearing short skirts and crossing her legs so he caught a bit of thigh. Based on the stammering, the hard swallows, and the sudden blushing, she was willing to bet that he did.

Christmas was an opportunity she just couldn't pass up, so Natasha painstakingly baked and decorated a batch of sugar cookies, plated them up and left them on his desk with a note- 'Merry Christmas, Mr. Rogers! Your favorite, Natasha.' When he'd joined her that afternoon, the note made him laugh and Natasha basically beamed to herself-- right up until he slipped a small package onto the desk beside her.

“You're doing a really good job in here,” he explained warmly. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

He got her a present? Natasha blinked and felt her cheeks warm, but she kept as calm as possible and reached out for the gift. “Can I open it now?” Mr. Rogers nodded and the redhead carefully peeled the paper off the box to reveal a set of pastels sitting in a neat row, all tucked into a case for her.

Fortunately, he was quick to explain. “I know you're not devoted to art or anything, but you've grown so much since you started in my class and I thought I might...” He gestured with both hands and Natasha tilted her head to the side, smiling a little in amusement. “Nurture that, I guess. You don't have to say you like it if you don't, but I hope you do.”

God knows what possessed her to do it, but Natasha stood up and, perched on her toes, pecked Mr. Rogers' cheek. “Thank you,” she said warmly-- that is, until she realized what she'd just done. Shit. Recoiling in barely concealed horror, she grabbed her bag and the package, stuffing it inside along with her phone and the notebook she'd been writing in. “I've gotta go,” she said quickly. “Sorry, I-- Just sorry. Have a good Christmas.”

The door slammed before Mr. Rogers had a chance to say anything else and Natasha bolted down the hall, leaving the building even as she heard him call after her. That night, she invited herself over to Clint's house and bemoaned her stupid actions, burying her face in his pillow while Clint told her that Mr. Rogers was probably still thinking about it and wishing it had been his lips. But Natasha could hardly be reasoned with and she was sure that she'd messed it all up.

Christmas break went very quickly. Her foster parents weren't very warm people, so aside from Christmas dinner and a few presents (new ballet shoes and cash for her, a book and a scarf for them), they didn't see each other. New Year's Eve was spent at Clint's house, eating Chinese food and sharing a big, smacking kiss when the ball dropped. And then it was time to get back to school.

They went back on a Monday and Natasha had long since decided that walking in like she owned the world was the best way to go. Sure enough, she marched into class with her head held high and took her seat without looking at him-- because it was easier to pretend to be confident than be confident under the gaze of a _teacher_ she'd made the mistake of kissing on the cheek.

“I hope everyone had a wonderful break,” he said warmly, and the class responded with the grunts and moans of students not particularly happy to be back at school. Natasha said nothing. “We have a lot of work to do before the year is over, and I just want to remind you that we'll be have our second conferences this week. I'll be meeting with each of you to talk about how your projects are coming along and discuss how you're going to eventually turn them in to me.”

Natasha swore in Russian, muttering to herself about her shitty luck. Fortunately, as they were turned out to work individually, Mr. Rogers called the first student up-- “Anderson.” Thank God. He was starting from the beginning of the alphabet, which meant that Natasha wouldn't have to go until the next day. That didn't mean that their afternoon together wouldn't be ruined, though. Natasha half expected him to let her down easy and tell her it wasn't going to work out as far as their little arrangement went.

But she wasn't going to give up that easy.

Once the bell rang and everyone cleaned up, Natasha pressed her lips together and reported to the front of the room as usual, arms wrapped around the books held to her chest. She even turned her eyes up, giving him a determined look and steeling herself for whatever might happen now. To her surprise, he just offered her a little smile and led her down the hall to his office as usual.

“Did you have a good Christmas?” he asked when they got inside and he'd closed the door, just like he always did.

He was going to act like nothing happened? “It was okay,” she answered slowly. “New Year's was better.” Pause. “You?”

Mr. Rogers shrugged a little, sitting himself down and ruffling through a pile of papers until he found his grade book and pulled it out. “Spent Christmas with my best friend,” he said easily. “So we tried to make fettuccine and failed. Then I spent New Year's with him too, but we went out. So I guess it was okay. Nothing too exciting.”

All Natasha got from all that was one very important fact: Mr. Rogers was single. There was no way a married or attached guy would spend _both_ of those holidays with his best friend if he was with someone. ...Unless this 'best friend' was actually a boyfriend. Sexuality was a hard thing to guess.

“That doesn't sound so bad,” she said honestly, taking her usual seat now that she knew (or assumed) that he wasn't going to ask her to leave. “I spent New Year's with my best friend too.”

He smiled and nodded, and they both got to work after that. Natasha was still working hard on cataloging and taking pictures of all this student work that was slowly deteriorating in his office when Mr. Rogers spoke up again.

“By the way,” he began, getting her attention immediately. Natasha's heartbeat picked up and she wondered if he would mention it now, ask her to go, tell her not to do it again... “I thought we could have your conference now, since you're here and all.”

Oh. “Okay,” she agreed, slipping off the stool and making her way over to him. Crossing her legs at the knee, she sat on the cleared chair beside his desk and leaned forward a little, folding her arms under her chest on the edge of the desk. “I think it's going really well. I want to present it to you in a binder, except the performance portion.” Because she was one hundred percent serious about that. If she could get an A by dancing for him, that was what she was going to do.

“So you are going to perform?” He smiled and Natasha couldn't help but smile too. “For the whole class, or is that just for me?”

Natasha pressed her lips together and raised her eyebrow at him. He sounded like he was flirting and she wondered if he realized that, or realized that it definitely sounded like he was asking her for a private dance or something. “I'd rather it was just for you.”

That really came out without much thought, but it made Mr. Rogers' lips quirk up a little and Natasha counted that as a definite win. “Sounds good,” he agreed. “Do you know what you'll be performing yet?”

Oh, yes. Well, she hadn't quite decided until that moment, but it was all very clear now. “I'll be doing a dance from Swan Lake,” she shared. “The Black Swan's first dance.” Because it was very bold, very seductive in a way. The Black Swan was all about temptation, so she thought it was appropriate.

He swallowed hard and Natasha smirked a little, feeling a lot more genuinely confident than she had before. “That—That sounds really interesting,” he offered. “I can't wait to see it.”

Clint was going to love that. “I promise I'll give you a good show,” she said smoothly, standing up and sauntering back to her seat. If she felt like his gaze was on her the whole time, she didn't have to say anything about it.

But when it was time to leave, Natasha found herself in one of those situations no one could anticipate. She'd pulled her coat on and was watching him do the same while she tied a scarf around her neck when all of a sudden, they were awfully close. With his messenger bag already hanging near his hip, Mr. Rogers had seemingly taken a step closer and Natasha, having reached forward for her bag, wound up a mere two inches from his chest. Time stopped and Natasha slowly looked up at him, taking just a short moment to appreciate the warmth radiating off him and the way he towered over her, the way his shoulders just eclipsed her petite frame. Meeting his eyes, she figured she was too far gone to hide all the things she wanted to do him.

And then she parted her lips, and it was all over. There were two hands on her hips, gently pushing her back until she hit the wall beside the door and had him staring down her like he was lost, like he'd tried very hard to not be doing what he was doing right now. But she _wanted_ him to. Mr. Rogers lifted one hand to her cheek and leaned in, pressing their lips together at last.

Natasha's whole body moved towards him, her hands reaching out to curl into his shirt and pull him closer as he pressed his tongue forward and between her lips. It was so unlike any other kiss she'd been given; more experienced than the drunk high school boys who kissed her at parties, gentler than Clint's stupid kisses sometimes, warmer than anything she'd felt before. He pulled back for a second and their breath mingled between them for a split second before he kissed her anew and one of Natasha's hands slid up to his jaw to hold him there.

When he broke the kiss again and leaned back far enough to meet her gaze, a lot of different emotions flitted across his features- arousal as clear as the dilation of his pupils, confusion, dread, fear, anxiety... Natasha went out on a limb and cupped his cheeks with both hands, pulling him back in for another kiss. Maybe she wasn't that experienced otherwise, but she pressed into him and he parted his lips, locking his arms around her waist while she ran her tongue lightly over his lower lip before nipping playfully and pulling away again. But they couldn't do this here. This wasn't a good idea.

“Take me home,” she panted, sliding her hands down his chest and eventually letting her head fall back against the wall. He hesitated for a moment, but eventually nodded and stepped back so she could grab her bag and they could make their way outside. Nothing was said. No looks were exchanged, though Natasha glanced over to him quite a few times and noted the way his brow was furrowed like he didn't know what to do. More than likely, what he wanted to do was at war with the 'right' thing to do.

This time, when Natasha wrapped her arms around his middle and pressed close to him, it felt differently than it had before. It felt more intimate, and she flattened her hands against his torso to feel the way he was breathing and the hard ridges of his abs. She didn't stop until he took her wrists and stilled her, tugging her arms around him so she could hold on properly. Still, the ride home was pleasant enough, even if there was a voice at the back of Natasha's head telling her that Mr. Rogers (or was she allowed to call him Steve now?) could pull the plug on their whole arrangement and leave her embarrassed and broken-hearted. But he wouldn't, would he? He was so sweet... He wouldn't hurt her.

When they pulled up to her house, lights off to signify that no one was home, Natasha slipped off the bike and stood beside him. “I'll see you tomorrow,” she offered quietly. He nodded, but he didn't say anything until she refused to move and reached out to place her hand on his arm.

Turning to give her an unsure look, he offered a small smile and nodded. “Yeah,” he answered. “Have a good night, Natasha.”

As he drove off, Natasha wondered if she could possibly have a good night when she was already worried about Wednesday. Having him alone again and _not_ going in for another kiss didn't seem like an option. What was she going to do? Well, she did what any eighteen year old would do and called her best friend. They settled on a video chat and Natasha told him all about it.

“He kissed you?!”

“Could you focus for a second?” She argued. “What am I supposed to do tomorrow? What if he won't talk to me again?”

Clint shook his head, flabbergasted. “I can't believe he kissed you! And in school!”

Natasha pressed her lips together. “Like two days ago, you were telling me to sit in his lap and go for it.”

“But-- But--” He narrowed his eyes and Natasha rolled hers- he was getting protective. “He had better not take advantage and get you pregnant and fucking...”

Sighing heavily, Natasha leaned her forehead against her desk and softly bumped it a few times on the wood as Clint droned on and on about how he would 'seriously fuck up' Mr. Rogers should he do anything to hurt Natasha and would 'get his ass fired' and so on. This was all despite the fact that Clint was like half his size.

“Clint!” She interrupted eventually, cutting him off. “I can take care of myself. Just tell me what you think the best course of action is here. I'm not losing my virginity over his desk.”

“Why not?”

Another sigh. “Because,” she said slowly. “I know it's not incredibly important, but I'd like to at least enjoy it without worrying that someone's going to walk in.”

Clint agreed that she had good reasons for objecting to being fucked over the guy's desk, which was big of him, and they discussed different plans of action until her parents came home. That night, Natasha replayed their moment in her head- the weight of him against her, the warm press of his lips, the secure hold and how big his hands felt. Again, she found herself slipping one hand between her legs just to take the edge off, _Steve's_ name on her lips as she came.

The next day, Natasha showed up to school wearing a form fitting dress and a cardigan, pulling on tights at the last minute because it was just too cold to go without them. All day, she waited to see Mr. Rogers so she would know the fallout of their little makeout session the day before and when she finally walked into his class, her heart was beating fast and so loud that she was sure someone else would be able to hear it.

There he was, at his desk. She stared at him while she made her way in the door, willing him to look up and spot her so she might have some clue. When he did look up, there was shock, panic, amusement, and finally-- warmth. He smiled. “Good afternoon, Natasha,” he greeted, and she grinned back at him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Rogers.”

During class, there was virtually no reason for him to be anywhere near her and she knew it. And yet, she kept catching his eye as she worked on her most recent piece, even when he was talking to other students. She even winked once and watched as he spluttered and had to apologize to the student in front of him for nearly spilling his coffee everywhere. It was fun, and sincere, and sweet. At least, Natasha thought so. And yes, there were issues with her being a student of his-- but she _was_ eighteen, so it wasn't strictly illegal.

When they said goodbye that afternoon, it was after every other student had left. Natasha went right up to his desk and smirked, leaning her hip against his desk. “Have a good night, Mr. Rogers,” she murmured, and he grabbed her hand before she got to leave him, turning his eyes up to her.

“Have a good night, Natasha.”

Well, if that wasn't enough to get her through ballet practice, Natasha didn't know what was. That night, she spent quite a bit of time thinking about the next day and what she could do to make sure that she got another kiss- aside from kissing him outright, of course. First things first: she had to look spectacular.

When she showed up to class the next day, Natasha was wearing the tightest jeans she owned, a pair of black leather booties, a soft, red top that accentuated her breasts and a leather jacket to pull the outfit together. She'd painstakingly curled her hair that morning, leaving it hanging just over her shoulders. Finally, she wore dark eyeliner and mascara to make her eyes pop, along with lipstick in a deep red. Natasha didn't like to brag, but she thought she looked hot and, based on the way he stopped mid-sentence when she walked into the room and gave him a confident smirk, Mr. Rogers thought so too.

Class was very interesting that day. Natasha was working on a series of charcoal sketches and Mr. Rogers paid particular attention to her, standing behind her and leaning over to point out a few things in her work... and pressing against her at the same time. The whole thing made Natasha wish that time would just go faster because she was getting another kiss. She was sure of it. In fact, by the time everyone else had filed out of the room, Natasha was just about dying to see what she would be treated to once they got to his office. But the walk there began quietly, Natasha trying hard not to smile too widely.

“Seeing someone special today?” He asked, glancing down at her and raising an eyebrow.

She leveled his gaze and smiled. “You could say that,” she answered.

When they reached his office, Mr. Rogers closed the door as usual, but left it unlocked and that wasn't acceptable. She'd have to remedy that. Natasha watched him like a hawk as he set his bag down and sat in his desk chair as usual before finally turning his gaze back to her. Right. This was her turn, her moment to make sure things went the way she wanted them to. So she set her bag down as usual, and peeled her jacket off so she was left only in the shirt she'd chosen just for him before heading to the door.

“You know,” she said, pressing her back against the door and slipping one hand behind her to lock it. “I haven't been able to stop thinking about that kiss.” There it was, out in the open. Mr. Rogers seemed remarkably calm, even as he nodded in agreement.

Natasha stepped forward and made her way over to him, eventually sitting on the edge of his desk and resting the toe of her boot on the edge of his chair. “Have you been thinking about it too?”

“Yeah,” he rasped immediately. “Yeah, I have, but Natasha--”

No. No, he couldn't question this. Natasha slipped gracefully into his lap, sitting sideways and draping her arms over his shoulders. “Yeah?” She whispered, glancing down at his lips for a moment. “Natasha, what?”

Steve-- he was definitely Steve now-- swallowed hard and carefully set one big hand on her thigh, the other at her back. “You look...amazing...today.”

It would do. Natasha smiled and leaned forward, meeting his lips with barely concealed desire and quickly deepening it until she had his lower lip between both of hers. For a while, the only sounds in the room were the soft smacking of lips and the even softer rustling of their clothing as Natasha shifted on his lap. It took almost nothing at all for her to stand up with their lips still connected and climb back onto his lap, straddling him with her legs through the arms of his chair and sliding her arms around his neck.

Honestly, it wasn't until he broke the kiss and peppered warm, wet kisses over her jaw that Natasha realized how serious this felt. It was like the air itself was heavier, melding them together as she ducked down to catch his lips and mimicked his kisses by pressing her lips along his jaw and continuing down to his neck. The scent of his cologne was warm and musky, but Natasha just wanted to make sure she remembered it when they had to part ways. Because they _would_ have to part ways. She couldn't just go home with him and he certainly couldn't come back to her house.

She was snapped out of her slightly more upsetting thoughts by a low moan coming from the man beneath her- a deep, rumbling sound that came from barely parted lips and surprised her so much that she lifted her head to look right at him with a rather playful sense of accomplishment. She'd done that. Having some idea what had caused it, Natasha licked her lips and pressed her hips down against him, beginning to roll them in slow circles while she watched him. And Steve delivered. He moaned again, panting lightly as she continued and eventually pressing his hips up to meet her. It was fascinating, the way his lips were wet and swollen, the way his eyes glazed over and a little line formed between his eyes, the sound of his voice now that it was thick with arousal. Natasha felt like she could be satisfied just watching him for a while.

But it would seem that Steve had other ideas in mind. Both hands found her hips and he pulled her more firmly against him, rocking his hips up as she continued to move hers-- and it was Natasha's turn to moan, angling forward so she could press their lips together and muffle the sound. They were still in school, after all. Between her legs, she could feel the hard press of what she instinctively knew was his erection and wished they hadn't been wearing such thick clothing. Even so, she kept bearing down on him, gripping his shoulders tighter and tighter as his fingers dug into her hips.

“Natasha,” he gasped, breaking their kiss and pressing his forehead against her shoulder instead. It was the single most erotic sound the redhead had ever heard and she echoed back with another moan, sliding her fingers into his hair as he frantically guided her hips until they were rutting against one another.

She came first, shuddering and trembling against him while she fought to keep her hips moving still because she knew he had to get off too. She wanted to hear him when he did. Just a few minutes later, Steve's arms locked around her and his hips stuttered as he groaned into her shoulder. And then... all was quiet save for the sounds of their soft panting.

Natasha slowly released her grip on his hair and stroked it down, letting her head fall forwards to lay on top of his instead. It felt like they'd crossed a very big line here, and despite the fact that it had been entirely consensual, she did feel like he was going to wind up telling her it couldn't happen again. All she could do was hope that wasn't the case. As his arms relaxed, Steve sat back and looked up at her like he felt guilty, one hand lifting up to brush her hair away from her face. She didn't like that look, so she leaned down to kiss him again, soft and sweet, and then leaned back for the inevitable fallout.

“Natasha,” he said again, sighing quietly. “You know we can't-- We shouldn't have--”

It hurt, to hear him say it. Honestly, it hurt more than she expected it to. “But I wanted to,” she countered, giving him a brief smile. “I want to do more.”

Steve looked like he didn't know what to say to that, so the most obvious things came out instead- “You're just a kid,” he breathed. “You're a student _and_ a kid.”

Natasha frowned a little bit. “I'm not a kid. I'm eighteen.” And she knew what she wanted. He wasn't taking advantage of her or anything, if that was what he thought. Sighing, she leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Don't ruin it.”

“I'm not trying to ruin it,” he protested quietly. “But Natasha--”

Sighing, the redhead pulled away from him and slipped off his lap to awkwardly stand beside his desk while Steve untucked his shirt to cover the wet stain on his pants. “Look,” he said as he stood up. “You know I like you, but we can't just--”

Natasha shook her head. “Please don't ruin it,” she said again. “We can talk about it tomorrow. But I can't do this right now.” Because like it or not, that was the first sexual act Natasha had ever been involved in and she needed to process the fact that he wanted to kind of brush it under the rug. “Can you take me home?”

Steve nodded quickly and they made their way out, heading towards the exit in total silence. The ride home was quiet too, and Natasha might have held onto him a bit tighter than usual because it felt like he was slipping through her fingers, like he was one foot out of the door already. Their time together hadn't made her feel as empowered as she hoped it might.

Slipping off when they arrived outside her building, she handed his helmet back and offered a slight smile. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he answered right away, reaching out for a moment just to touch her hand like he was attempting to console her. “See you tomorrow.”

That night, it was hard for her to get to sleep. She hadn't told Clint about it because while Natasha wasn't _ashamed_ of what they'd done, she felt like it should be kept a secret until she figured out what the future held for them. The last thing she wanted to do was put his job and livelihood at risk.

The next day, Natasha decided upon waking up that she would not be going to school that day. It wasn't because she didn't want to face him and it wasn't because she was scared of his rejection, but she just couldn't convince herself to get up and get going. With her foster parents out of the house, she left her hair in the braid she'd twisted it into after her shower the night before and padded downstairs for a cup of tea and a light breakfast. The day was spent on the sofa, watching whatever she could find on TV and thinking about the best way to handle her current situation.

After lunch, which consisted of she took a much appreciated nap all curled up under a blanket and didn't wake until close to three when her phone started to ring. She answered drowsily, only to find herself being questioned by a worried Clint--

“Where are you? You never miss school! Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” she sighed. “Just decided to take the day off.”

There was a pause and Natasha closed her eyes again as Clint voiced a more certain worry. “Something's wrong,” he pointed out. “You don't sound right.”

“Can you come over?”

Of course, Clint agreed right away and twenty minutes later, he was letting himself into her house and making his way into the living room, where she was still laying on the couch. “Tasha,” he murmured, moving to sit on the edge of the sofa beside her. “What's wrong?”

What _wasn't_ wrong? Steve was probably going to either be overcome with guilt and confess, thereby giving her the worst reputation possible and losing his job, or he was going to tell her to keep quiet and never speak to her beyond that, or he was going to tell her that they just couldn't continue on like this.. Shaking her head, she gave in and sat up, quickly wrapping her arms tightly around Clint's neck and hiding her face because she just needed a hug right now. Startled, Clint rubbed at her back to soothe her, one hand coming up to stroke her messy curls. Whatever she was going through, he was there, no questions asked.

They stayed like that for quite a few moments before she spoke up again, voice muffled and low. “I did something potentially bad,” she admitted. “And I don't know what to do now.”

She could hear Clint sigh, so she just went on without giving him a chance to speak. “We kissed again. Made out, in fact. And.. and we might have kind of rutted against each other like animals?”

“You did _what_?” Natasha cringed at first, but Clint's laugh brought her right out of that and she sat back while he bent forward in hysterics.

“Hey,” she protested, going unheard. Pressing her lips together, Natasha hit his shoulder. “Hey!”

Clint gathered himself and straightened up, giving her a wide smile. “You wanted to, didn't you? Why are you upset about it? Sounds like a damn good time to me.”

Natasha _had_ wanted to do it. Even aside from how attractive he was, she really liked Steve. He was smart and sweet, with a ridiculous sense of humor that actually made her smile. Why couldn't they just be the same age? “He said we shouldn't have,” she protested. “I mean, he didn't push me away or anything and he still brought me home, but those words left his mouth.” She pulled her legs up and leaned forward to rest her chin on her knees. “What if that was it? What if it's already over?”

“Hey, you like him, right?” He asked. Natasha nodded. “And he obviously likes you. Everything's gonna work out, don't even worry about it.” That was Clint alright. Loyal and hopeful 'til the end. “Is that why you skipped today?”

She shrugged because it was kind of the reason, but not entirely the reason. It was just one of the many reasons she'd decided to stay home even though it probably looked like she was avoiding him. “He's probably thinking that,” she muttered. “Probably going to have to 'talk' with him tomorrow.”

“Talking is not the end of the word, Nat,” he chided gently. “Maybe it would be a good thing. Maybe he just needs to make sure you're not gonna tell anyone. Cept me, of course. And who could blame you for telling me? I'm adorable.”

Natasha's lips were just quirking up into a smile when someone knocked on the door and they both kind of froze. It was way, _way_ too early for Natasha's foster parents to be home and they hadn't ordered takeout or anything... Clint said he'd make himself useful and got up to answer it. All Natasha heard from her position was the door opening and then two muffled voices. It sounded like a man was at the door. Frowning, she stood up as well and headed towards the door. “Clint? Who is it--”

Stopping right there, Natasha stared at Steve standing in the doorway and honestly wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry or possibly run. She was all of a sudden very aware of the fact that most of her curls had fallen out of her braid and the fact that she was currently wearing one of Clint's big sweatshirts and a pair of tights. Oh, shit.

“What are you doing here?” She hissed, narrowing her eyes at him. Natasha wasn't angry, but she was definitely sure he wasn't supposed to be there. She could see him considering Clint, but the look he got in return was more than enough to let him know that Clint was aware of what happened between them.

He stepped forward anyway. “You didn't come to school,” he pointed out. “I was...worried.”

Natasha pressed her lips together and glared, but it was Clint who spoke up. “Well,” he announced. “I'll just leave you two to your talking.” He disappeared for a second to grab his jacket and his bag, then came back and kissed Natasha on the cheek. “Have fun. And Mr. Rogers?” He poked the blond's chest. “Watch it, mister.” He left and Natasha moved past Steve to lock the door before she turned around to face her teacher again.

“Why are you here?” She repeated, crossing her arms over her chest. He was going to get in trouble if they were caught- didn’t he understand that?

With the door closed (and bolted because Natasha didn’t take chances), it would seem that he relaxed just a tiny bit. “I was worried,” he admitted again. “I figured… you might have regretted what we did and gotten upset.”

Oh. Well, no. She wasn’t upset by what they’d done, just the threat of him rejecting her for the future. “I knew what I was doing,” she answered, uncrossing her arms because he was sweet to check up on her regardless of how inappropriate this whole thing was to an outside observer. “Come in. We can talk in the kitchen.” She led the way into the kitchen and gestured to the table so he would know to sit down while she got them drinks- tea for her, coffee for him, and a plate of cookies.

Curling her legs under her across the table, Natasha sipped patiently at her tea and waited for the silence to get to him as she knew it would. Sure enough- “Look,” he began, gesturing over the table with one hand. “You know I like you. I’m pretty sure that you know very well that I like you a hell of a lot more than I’m supposed to. But we can’t just… I can’t just put my job on the line and it _sucks_ because you’re beautiful and you’re so smart, and funny and mature and it’s crazy, but I really want to try this with you…”

He really liked her? Natasha tilted her head to the side as she listened to him complimenting her, only saying 'beautiful' once before he listed off traits that had nothing to do with her looks. Steve liked her as a person and why _shouldn't_ they do this? She was legally an adult, he wasn't favoring her in class or anything... As he trailed off, Natasha stood up and made her way around the table. Her hands cupped his cheeks for a moment and she leaned down to kiss him firmly on the lips, absolutely thrilled that he did nothing to stop her. “I’m already trying it,” she said when their lips parted, glancing down to his mouth for a moment before locking their gazes together. “No one else has to know until I graduate.” She paused, giving him a little smile. “Except Clint. But he won't tell anyone. He was actually rooting for you.”

He didn’t look completely convinced, but Natasha knew he was also swiftly losing the last thread of decency holding him back. In a bold move, she stood up straight and turned around for him, giving him a look over her shoulder before she unzipped the sweater and let it fall, leaving her in a tight, black tank top. And then she slowly walked away, swinging her hips all the way down the hall.

There was silence except for the deep pounding of her heart as Natasha stepped into her room, hastily kicking her journal under the bed and tossing her one and only teddy bear into the closet. For a few seconds, she wondered if he’d even follow her—but there he was, standing in the doorway and looking her over. This was it. She could feel it, and this was going to be the right time.

Stepping up to him, Natasha reached out and touched his chest, sliding her hands up until she was pulling him down for a long kiss. Again, she had Steve’s arms around her waist and relished them, taking pleasure in how firm and warm he was. This time, he leaned back and lifted her right off the ground, which meant that Natasha could wrap her legs around his waist with little difficulty, her arms around his neck. As soon as he broke the kiss, she moaned lightly, tilting her head back so he could mouth his way down the line of her throat, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the dip between her collarbones.

“ _Steve_ ,” she gasped, letting her eyes slide closed while he carried her to the bed. As soon as her back hit the mattress and his solid weight landed on top of her, she tightened her legs and pulled his hips closer. Again, she could feel the line of his erection through the material of his jeans and rolled her hips to get that same feeling again. But through only the thin material of her leggings and panties, he was eve hotter than before, even more impressive. She moaned openly, scraping her nails over his back and tugging at his shirt until it came off.

And then all of a sudden, Natasha had miles upon miles of smooth, toned Steve to worship. She shoved at him, clumsily turning him onto his back and straddling his hips so she could lean down and kiss his chest. His pecs were very firm, and they jumped when she slid her cold hands over his abdomen, feeling even smaller than she had before in comparison to her new secret lover. When she sat back up to let her fingers trace over the bumps of his abs, Steve reached up and tugged at the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and off her when she raised her arms. From there, his hands slid down her arms and Natasha just knew this felt the way it was supposed to feel.

It felt right, not like they were doing something wrong. Natasha took it upon herself to reach behind her, unclasping her bra and tossing it aside. Her cheeks flared and she realized that this would be the first time anyone saw her fully naked… There was definitely a part of her that wondered if she would be acceptable or not. Steve certainly seemed to think so, considering how he flipped them again and laid her down on her back, peppering kisses over her neck and collarbone until he could mouth at the skin of her breasts and---

“ _Oh_ …” That was new. She’d touched her own breasts before, of course, but this was so much more intense. His lips were setting her skin on fire, leaving a blazing trail over her breasts, but nothing would compare to the way they closed around one pink nipple and sucked. Oh. Natasha’s face flushed, and she arched her back instinctively to just get more of that feeling, coupled happily by his warm hand on her other breast, lightly massaging to keep her on edge.

After that, it was like both of them were in a rush. Natasha sat up to pull at his belt and let him peel her leggings and panties off while she rubbed her palm against him, still hidden in his boxers. But he felt big. He felt big and there was a slight twinge of fear inside her, right beside how utterly thrilling this was. Shoving his boxers down, Natasha laid back and let him come to rest between her legs, answering his kisses with soft moans as he pressed his hips against her.

“Nat,” he said breathlessly, still rutting lightly against her while she dug her nails into his sides for more. “Natasha, do you have--” Right. A condom.

“I do.” Because of Clint. How had he known? Leaning over to the side, she grabbed one of the condoms out of her bedside table and handed it over to him, appreciating that he took it without comment, but she still figured he didn't know she was a virgin. Maybe she should tell him?

Except she didn't want to wind up ruining the mood, so she kept quiet about it. As he leaned back, opening the wrapper and rolling the condom onto himself, Natasha got her first really good look at him. She leaned up on her elbows to watch, letting her gaze wander from the hard lines of his chest to the even more defined lines on his stomach, the deep 'v' leading down to his groin and the thick, hard line of his cock.. Wow. Natasha hardly realized that her lips had formed a little 'o' as she looked him up and down, one eyebrow raising in interest.

That is, until he let out a soft laugh and crawled over her, meeting her lips again for a brief moment. “You're gonna make me blush with all that staring,” he teased, sliding one hand down her thigh and hiking that leg over his hip.

“I can't help it,” she countered against his lips, letting the heel of her foot dig into his lower back rather insistently. “You're gorgeous.” And that was the truth.

He kissed her again, parting her willing lips and drawing her into him nice and slow. Natasha was so enamored with the way he was kissing her, the way he was taking his sweet time working her mouth open.. that she hardly noticed his hand between them until he was pressing into her.

“O-oh..” She broke the kiss to focus, her eyes widening a bit as he filled her and began moving his hips. It didn't hurt so much as ache at the start, but that was soon overtaken by a distinct, burning pleasure that started in the pit of her stomach and spread up to her chest, leaving her with no other choice but to move with him and work towards another release. Natasha's fingers slipped into his hair and she tipped her head back and closed her eyes to savor every moment.

The feeling of him moving inside of her was very difficult for Natasha to describe. It felt warm like it did when she touched herself, but this was so much more. It was more intense, she supposed, and her cheeks flushed as they continued, moving together towards their releases. Steve’s lips were everywhere, lingering on her mouth, sliding over her neck and down to her collarbones as he continued to thrust into her. His hands moved too, eventually capturing hers and lacing their fingers together as he pinned her arms on either side of her head.

All Natasha had was her legs, tightened around him so she could draw him into her with every powerful motion of his hips. Her breasts bounced freely and Natasha had this split second where she wanted to cover up, but he was there, kissing her like his life depended on it, and nothing else mattered. She could feel herself losing the slight inhibition she had left in favor of moving into his thrusts and refusing to be the object in this experience. She wanted to participate fully.

When he let her hands go, they immediately found his shoulders and Natasha held on tight while his arms scooped her up, settling her on his lap. She moaned loudly, squirming in place while she got her bearings and his eyes went a little hazy, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips. Oh. So he liked that. Taking her cues from his reactions, Natasha rolled her hips again and earned a deep groan along with a purposeful movement of his hips that made her cry out.

Eventually, he laid her back down again and Natasha’s lips parted in rough, needy moans as his pace tightened, growing harder and more desperate as he undoubtedly approached his peak. She could do little more than watch in rapt fascination as his muscles tensed and he came with a low groan, swearing under his breath while his hips slowed. He was _beautiful_.

But Natasha was acutely aware that she hadn’t come and wondered if that was a normal occurrence. She felt like she’d read something about not many women coming from penetration alone, but where did that leave her. Would he leave her like this, feeling slightly unfulfilled and conf—

What was he doing? Having pulled the condom off and thrown it into her trash can, Steve laid down on his stomach and hooked his arms under her thighs, dragging her down the bed until he was—Oh, he was—Wow.

“Oh my God, Steve,” she panted, looking down as his head shifted between her legs, his tongue sliding over her clit in the most delicious manner and his fingers—two thick, wonderful fingers—sliding into her and curling upwards to places she’d never been able to reach on her own. She shifted against him, arching her back and eventually gripping his hair to make him keep doing whatever it was he was doing because it felt _amazing_.

Her orgasm hit like a wave, washing over her and leaving her trembling as he lapped at her all the way through it no matter how she was grinding against his mouth and raggedly moaning his name amidst a few Russian swears. Natasha might have been embarrassed if she wasn't so pleased with it.

When she came down from it, he'd lifted his head and was giving her a smug smirk, his lips shiny with her juices... Natasha just stared for a moment while he crawled up to lay beside her, landing on his back with a huff of laughter.

Somehow, she thought it would feel different after her first time…

And, as she laid on her back and stared up at the ceiling, she realized that it did. It did feel different. It felt like she’d made the right decision in allowing Steve to be her first. He’d been thorough and satisfying and just rough enough to really leave an impression on her. Natasha was beyond pleased and turned over to face him, leaning against his chest and folding her arms over it so she would have a place to rest her chin.

“You know, Mr. Rogers, this really wasn’t why I stayed home today.”

He chuckled. “You mean you _didn’t_ expect to lure me over here just by staying home? I’m shocked.”

Natasha laughed easily and leaned up to kiss him, finding the taste of her on his tongue to be surprisingly tempting. “Are things going to be different?” She asked. “At school, I mean. You think people will be able to tell?”

Steve seemed to consider that for a moment. “I think we’ll be okay,” he said eventually. “I mean, we’ve been flirting for months and no one’s noticed anything. I think I have enough self control to resist while we’re in school.”

She couldn’t help it. Natasha raised her eyebrows at that in a borderline frightening, challenging look. But she leaned up to kiss him yet again anyway and before long, they were moving on to round two.

By the time he left, Natasha was bright eyed and happy, wandering around the apartment with a spring in her step. She changed her sheets, but she kept the pillowcases on so she could smell his shampoo when she went to sleep that night. He’d also programmed his number into her phone so they could text whenever they wanted to. But as for that self control thing? No, she was going to toss that right out the window the next day at school.

There was, however, a bit of doubt that gathered in her chest as she walked into school the next morning, all dressed up with Steve in mind. She’d chosen a short skirt with thigh high stockings and boots, paired with a simple shirt and a cardigan. All in all, she wanted him to notice her legs and, no surprise, he did. She sat up front that day, thick paper and charcoals set out in front of her, and crossed her legs at the knee to give him quite the eyeful as he walked around. The minute he covertly brushed his fingers over the bare flesh between her stockings and her skirt, she knew he was all hers.

After they’d cleaned up, Steve led her to his office as usual, opening the door for her and letting her inside before he followed- and locked the door. “Ms. Romanov,” he began sternly, approaching her and setting his stuff down as usual while she perched on the edge of his desk. “That skirt is about half an inch away from violating the dress code.”

Natasha smirked and batted her eyelashes innocently. “I hadn’t noticed,” she countered sweetly. “Mr. Rogers.”

Apparently self-control wasn’t really in Steve’s wheelhouse. Natasha got that from what he did next, which was place a heated, open-mouthed kiss to each side of her neck before meeting her lips and coaxing her into a kiss that left her panting and uncomfortably wet.

Slipping off the desk, Natasha stood in front of him and pulled his hands over her hips so he could squeeze her ass again as she leaned up to speak to him. “I’m not wearing any panties,” she murmured playfully. “In case you were wondering.”

Steve was clearly shocked, but he covered well, using a strong grip on her behind to pick her up just enough to put her back down on the desk and nudge her legs apart. "Wouldn't want to let that go to waste," he said roughly, gracefully getting to his knees in front of her.

As Natasha planted her heel in his shoulder blade and twisted her hand in his hair, she knew for sure that no matter how difficult it was, she wanted to have Steve's head between her legs, and her legs alone, for as long as she possibly could.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


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